Over and Over Again
by Ralph E. Silvering
Summary: It's been seven years since they first met, five years since they kissed, but the passion burning between Michael and Nikita remains as strong as ever.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of **_**Nikita, **_**'cause if I did there would be way more Mikita scenes. This takes place starting at the end of Michael and Nikita's conversation in Russia during 1x17 and continues on from there. Will include the Cosmic Love scene – hopefully.**

Chapter 1: Sometimes Silence Is Exactly What's Needed

"… I was coming here to," Michael saw the sudden realization of his words pierce Nikita, and she looked shocked for a split instant before she quickly glanced away from him, "double cross you," he finished. Michael couldn't look away from her though, his green eyes still too emotional, too raw from recent revelations, he begged for a silent forgiveness in the only way he still knew how.

Nikita turned back and watched that beloved face, the lines of strain by those green eyes, and the snow that swirled around his tightly-wound figure standing in the middle of a Russian winter. Seeing Michael cry had left her with an utterly helpless feeling in the pit of her stomach and she had been so afraid that her words wouldn't be enough for him – that they wouldn't be what he needed to hear in this moment.

But they had seemed to break through that invisible barrier which had existed between them ever since she had come back to declare war against Division. He was more open to her in this moment than he had been since they had both been here together 5 years ago, the night he had first told her about his family. She figured that in the grand scheme of everything that was between them, the fact that he had been angry and hurt enough to want to double cross her when he arrived didn't matter anymore. She realized that she could forgive him even this.

"Well you didn't," she told him simply, before slowly walking away and leaving him time to compose himself.

She policed her brass, as well as Michael's, and decided against moving the bodies of Kasim and his men. She doubted that the local authorities would be able to piece together what had happened, and she could only hope that when Percy discovered Kasim was dead he wouldn't connect it with her. Percy had an uncanny way of knowing things sometimes that reminded her again and again what a dangerous adversary he truly was.

When she had finished cleaning up to her satisfaction, she walked back outside to discover that Michael was still in the same spot that she had left him. She went over to him to tell him that she was leaving; she wanted to get the earliest flight out of Sheremetyevo Airport back to the States and away from Russia before Gogol caught up with her. As she neared his hunched, leather-clad, back however, she found herself wishing that she could have only five more minutes to spend just being in his presence.

She moved up to stand beside him and then she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She tried to figure out how just being beside him made her feel safe, why it had always made her feel safe even when he was trying to kill her. She had cursed her automatic sense of well-being around him numerous times, afraid it would make her too careless one day, afraid that one day he would actually pull the trigger before he had time to understand how much she needed him – how much she loved him.

Michael turned to face Nikita, ready to tell her they both needed to move out and make their separate ways back to New York, when he noticed how tired she looked. He realized that she had to be utterly exhausted and that she probably hadn't even slept since he had given her the ultimatum to hunt down Kasim. _Another way in which I've hurt her, _he thought, experiencing again that sudden fear he'd felt when he'd reached this little Russian retreat only to find that Nikita was in Kasim's grasp. Michael swallowed rapidly; refusing to consider what he would have done if he'd have lost another loved one to Kasim Tariq.

He cleared his throat. "We should get moving. Red Eye flight takes off in about two hours. I'm driving," he told her.

She looked at him but obviously forbore to comment because she walked beside him down the road to his car, which he'd parked well back from the hotel. Michael drove in silence all the way back to Pulkovo Airport in St. Petersburg, occasionally glancing at Nikita and watching as she valiantly tried to stay awake. He got them both onto the US military transport, waving a top clearance military badge, and then they both strapped into one of the small side benches that ran along the walls of the plane.

Michael had forgotten how close they would have to be to one another through the many hours it would take them to get back to the US. As soon as she sat down beside him he knew that this was going to be a long flight. Her thigh was pressed into his leg and he could feel every breath that she took. He shifted uncomfortably and refused to look over at her, maintaining the silence that had been their constant companion for many hours now. His mind refused to focus on any one thing since the revelations he'd heard about Percy from Kasim. He wanted to talk to her, but at the same time there was too much that needed to be said between them. He didn't even know where to start and now was definitely not the best time. He was exhausted, she was definitely exhausted, and they were on a military transport with US Marines within shouting distance.

So he leaned back against the cool metal of the plane and he tried in vain to organize his thoughts. But no matter what he did, his mind kept returning to the woman beside him. Nikita continued to fight her exhaustion. Every couple of minutes Michael would watch out of the corner of his eye as her head fell towards her chest, and then as she jerked it up again quickly. After a while Michael discreetly inched over a bit more so that their shoulders were touching. She needed to sleep, desperately, and she was obviously still too wary to do so in his presence.

But soon enough the constant droning of the airplane, as well as Michael's warmth beside her, sent Nikita gently into the arms of Morpheus. With a quiet sigh her eyes drifted shut and her head fell softly against his shoulder. Michael didn't move for a long, long time; afraid that any movement from him would cause her to start awake again and move away from him. He listened to her breathing for what felt like hours, but was probably closer to thirty minutes.

When he was sure she was deep enough asleep he cautiously moved his arm and brought it around her, drawing her closer to him until her head was under his chin and she was lying mostly on his chest. She moved then, a bit restlessly, but she only burrowed deeper into his warmth. He froze until she had settled again and then he gently removed her beret and rested his cheek on her hair. He stared sightlessly into space and felt his mind become peaceful and at ease for the first time in – certainly hours – but probably years, just from the simple fact that he was holding her in his arms. He felt his eyes becoming heavy, but he didn't fight his weariness, and soon enough Michael and Nikita were both sound asleep wrapped in each other's arms and just for a moment perfectly together in a world trying so desperately to tear them apart.

Nikita woke up to find herself ensconced securely in Michael's arms, his leather coat wrapped around both of them, and his scent all around her. His cheek was still resting on top of her hair and his quiet snores made her smile sleepily to herself before she recollected just where they both were and what had so recently happened. She froze and then tried to move away from him but all that did was cause his head to slip down to rest on her shoulder and for him to mutter distractedly and pull her even closer to him.

She laughed a bit sadly at the fact that only when they were both asleep did they show how much they needed one another. But she relaxed back into his grasp and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She had always loved his hair, had always wanted to run her hands through the soft strands and she wondered if this would be the only chance she got to do so. She stared into the distance, her arms securely around Michael until the plane landed and he awoke and quickly moved away from her, and then she did the sensible thing and pretended it had never happened.

They disembarked the plane and then, with only a quick look at her, Michael left. Nikita watched him stride down the runway and disappear around a corner and she shivered suddenly, wrapping her arms around herself. She feared for a second that the next time she saw him he'd be pointing another gun at her, but she didn't contemplate moving her home. She liked the idea that Michael now knew where she lived, and that he could find her so easily. There had been something in the quality of his silence as he left that began to give her a hope she had not felt in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of **_**Nikita, **_**'cause if I did there would be way more Mikita scenes and the Cosmic Love scene would have been WAY longer. Cosmic Love Scene Part 1. I apologize in advance for the cliff hanger at the end.**

Chapter 2: Always in this Twilight

"_I heard your heart beating; you were in the darkness too, so I stayed in the darkness with you."_

_~ Cosmic Love_

It had been three days since Michael had returned from Russia.

Three days since he'd last seen Nikita. Three days since he'd found out how his family had really died. Three days since he'd gone back to Division and had to pretend that nothing had changed.

Except everything _had_ changed.

Percy had given him a few days to think over his proposed plan to take over the government and Michael was grateful for that, because he didn't think he could stand across the desk from that man without trying to strangle him. He'd fantasized about it a lot recently, just squeezing until the other man's face turned purple as he scrabbled uselessly at Michael's hands which were inexorably drawing away the last of his air. Of the look of shock and consternation, and then at the last of comprehension as he realized that Michael knew what he'd done.

But Nikita had been right; he was stronger than he realized. Because as he stood across from Percy that evening, three days after Russia, he stared at the other man steadily and was able to tell him without the slightest tremor in his voice that he was with his Boss "… one hundred percent."

Percy just stared at his second in command and Michael felt a moment's fear that Percy suspected something, but then he calmed his heart rate and reminded himself that Percy had no reason to suspect … yet. Michael left that office as soon as he decently could nevertheless. He perfunctorily checked in with Birkhoff, but Division had been quiet lately; no new missions for hire, or directives from the government, and Nikita had been lying low as well – though only Michael probably knew the real reason for her sudden silence.

He left Division just as it got dark and as Michael reached his car he looked up at the sky, really looked at it just to watch it, which was something he hadn't done since he was a child. In spite of it being in the heart of New York City – and aboveground – the parking lot for Division personnel was surprisingly dark, and so the stars were sometimes visible even through the haze of Manhattan lights. He watched as one of the stars – brighter than the rest – shot across the sky and then vanished.

Michael realized that he didn't want to go back to his apartment.

He got into the car and started to drive and soon enough he found himself outside of Nikita's place.

Michael had been fighting the urge to go to her for the entirety of those three days as well. He'd tried to tell himself that he'd hurt her, that he was better off staying away from her until he'd sorted everything out in his mind, that he had no idea how to apologize for what he'd put her through.

But it was the first time in almost four years that Michael knew – absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt – where she would be. The compulsion to see her, to hear her voice, to watch the emotions play across her face and across her dark eyes proved to be more than he could resist.

At the end of the day Michael just needed her.

But he sat outside her home for a while, just watching her lighted windows and wondering what she was doing. He was so close to her that for the first time he felt oddly hesitant about closing the distance that had been between them for years. He had grown used to wanting her but never being able to have her, and to overcome that inertia was harder than he had thought it would be. He wondered when he had grown so perverse that he preferred his silent suffering because it was familiar and comforting to him, rather than facing the possibility of rejection or disappointment when he finally reached out to take her.

Michael snorted as he realized just how pathetic he'd become. He knew exactly what Nikita would say too, if he told her his fears. Hadn't she given him enough proof of her love and loyalty? She'd been trying to save him since the moment she'd come back – she'd never given up on him.

Michael resolutely got out of the car and entered the lower level of her apartment building. He stepped noiselessly as only an assassin or a spy knows how but he stopped as soon as he came within view of her room. She was sitting with her back to him, fiddling with a computer which she had obviously just recently bought. He felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered that it was his fault that she required a new computer as he shot her last one.

He swallowed a bit and almost turned back, but he found himself stepping forward – his shoes making faint sounds in order to warn her that he was coming. She turned towards him and got up rapidly from her stool, a faint trace of apprehension crossing her features before they softened and she took a slow step towards him. She looked more vulnerable than Michael had ever seen her; dressed for sleep in only a sheer sweater over her tang-top and underwear, without a drop of makeup on her face. And yet she also had never looked more beautiful to him.

Nikita had been lost in thought, setting up her new computer on autopilot when she heard footsteps behind her. At first she thought it was Alex, but then she remembered that Alex had gone with Nathan for the weekend despite her disapproval of such an idea.

And the footsteps sounded like Michael's.

She turned around, not really expecting him to actually be there, but sure enough there he was, in her entranceway, his long leather jacket worn over his habitual suit, staring at her.

She felt alarm and adrenaline course through her and she was up off her chair facing him before she was done processing his appearance in her home. Her hands opened and close uselessly by her side as she realized her sidearm was across the room.

But then she looked again at his face and she realized that for the first time Michael wasn't pointing a weapon at her.

He looked tired and remorseful and there was something so serious and yet hesitant about his entire person that she felt her heart go out to him. Since he made no move to speak she took a couple of slow steps toward him.

"You were right," he said, then. A slight quirk of his lips told her that he was proud of her for being right.

He was giving her what he thought she wanted; victory and the admission that he had been wrong this entire time.

But that wasn't what Nikita wanted at all.

She continued another couple steps and then she shook her head at him, "No" she whispered, her eyes compassionate and sad. What had she done to him, unintentionally perhaps, that would make him believe that she wanted to see him beaten and to have him admit her moral superiority?

She'd left him in the dark, she realized. She'd left him alone inside Division. It didn't matter to her at this moment that she'd had to leave, that she hadn't been strong enough to stay any longer without losing herself; that tiny part of her that had held onto her independence and her morality through everything. She hadn't been like Michael – able to balance all those years on the edge and still hold on to his humanity.

She'd needed those three years to rebuild herself, to learn a little portion of who she was, and to learn that who she had become, was tied up intrinsically with what Division made her – as much as she hated to finally understand that.

Michael swallowed hard at her reply, and he shifted as though he wanted to run away from her.

Nikita knew that he was trying to apologize for everything to her, but she wanted desperately to make him understand that such an apology was not necessary to her.

Michael obviously wasn't going to let himself go so easily though. "Yeah," he said, "you were right." Nikita continued to slowly move forward until she was standing right in front of him. His eyes followed her movement. "If I had just listened to you five years ago … things coulda been different." Michael's eyes were brighter and clearer than she had ever seen them, and Nikita watched as he looked down away from her in regret.

She was so close to him that she could hear his heart beating in the soft darkness of her room.

And she realized that as close as he was to her in this moment, she couldn't take advantage of him and push for more than he could give. She'd waited for him for years; she could wait a little long even though it was breaking her heart to do so when all she wanted was to grab him and kiss him. She just didn't think that he was ready. It was why she'd never tried to seduce him, why she'd only ever tried to reason with him in order to get him on her side. She knew that if she pushed him, he would give in to her, but he'd hate himself in the end and he would hate her.

She wouldn't be able to live in a world where Michael hated her.

And there was a part of her that was afraid. She'd longed for him for so long that she was afraid now to take that leap. She'd all but shouted at him that she loved him. Just a few days ago she'd begged him to not ruin what they had together with blackmail and vengeance and he had coldly told her that "There is no us; there never was."

Michael had found his way back to her but he still wasn't hers.

So she only told him simply that "things will be different," and then she turned away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of **_**Nikita, **_**'cause if I did there would be way more Mikita scenes and the Cosmic Love scene would have been WAY longer and ended something like this. Cosmic Love Scene Part 2.**

**Warning: This Chapter is total smut, but I just can't help myself.**

Chapter Three: Cosmic Love

Michael watched Nikita turn away from him – the fall of her dark hair, the glimpse of a slender shoulder through her sheer sweater – and it wasn't a clear cut thought that he had next. It was a simple need. He just couldn't let her walk away from him again.

He took two quick steps and he reached out to draw her back to him.

Nikita's well-trained reflexes meant she was expecting Michael's hand on her neck. She turned and let herself be pulled to him as he crashed his lips down upon hers. Her hands automatically came up to grab his leather-clad shoulders and then moved to his hair. She felt him trembling under her hands, felt the pure, naked want he felt for her travelling up his entire body and she kissed him back – just once – fiercely, before she again pulled away.

Michael felt Nikita pull away from him and he resisted for a moment, just a moment, because he wanted her so damn much and he was simply petrified that he was too late. But she didn't pull very far away and she kept her hands encircled around his head, her fingers brushing the back of his hair.

He watched her eyes – the surprise and the question in them. He was absolutely certain that he wanted this and she must have seen the resolve as well as the heavy-lidded desire in his gaze for she stayed right within the circle of his arms.

Nikita's eyes flickered down to Michael's lips before they rose to look up into his eyes again. But Michael, who was usually unable to keep his gaze away from her lips, kept his gaze firmly on her eyes. His entire body was aching for her, the years and years of wanting her causing him to grow hard just from her close proximity, the warmth and the smell of her, the feel of the bare skin of her neck under his hands.

Michael and Nikita drew closer to one another. Nikita felt as though invisible magnets were drawing them inescapably towards each other. Her hands on the sides of his neck, her thumbs caressing his cheeks, she heard his heart beating and the sound of his quick breathing.

They keep their eyes open, just staring at one another, until their noses touch … and then Michael closes his eyes and kisses her.

He goes gentle at first, his lips devouring but almost tentative, and Nikita quickly changes things. She opens her lips and slips her tongue inside his mouth tilting her head back to gain better access.

Michael's hands drop to encircle her waist and he pulls her against him. She smells the leather of his jacket, feels the hardness of him, the rasp of his stubble against her lips. She reaches up and encircles his shoulders with her arms, grabbing the back of his hair as she pulls him even closer to her.

If Michael had wanted to restrain himself a bit, it's long gone. His lips are urgently grabbing and caressing and ravishing hers and he finds he needs her closer still. He reaches down and she seems to know exactly what he wants because she jumps up against him, her hips around his waist as he turns and reaches blindly for the wall behind her – stumbling a bit in his hast so that they both crash into it.

Her pelvis is aching as Michael's crotch rubs against it.

He can feel the heat of her through the thin layer of her underwear and then he's grinding into her, pushing her up against the wall even as they continue to kiss, her arms around his broad shoulders as tight as her legs around his waist. They both moan into the kiss at the contact and Nikita raises her hand and grabs Michael's head moving him to gain better access to the warmth of his mouth.

His tongue is tangling with hers – the heat of him making her want him inside her this very moment and she wriggles against him a bit in her need.

Michael's cock is throbbing and it's been too long and he knows that if he doesn't at least slow down for a second then he's going to come right there with her in his arms. He turns slowly, his arm tight across her back but Nikita doesn't let him go that easily. She grinds her hips into his and Michael can't help but rise to meet her, his eyes tight in concentration, and his sharp gasp swallowed by their kisses.

He grabs the back of her head, holding her tenderly but oh so possessively to him, turns and walks with her – still wrapped so tightly against him – back over to her bed. She refuses to let him go even the tiniest bit, her arms wrapped entirely around his neck and her lips insistent upon his.

His shins hit the edge of her bed but he doesn't even notice as he lays her down, her legs cradling him as he thrusts into her heat causing her to break the kiss as she throws her head back against the pillow. He kisses her throat in reverence, and then her hands are roughly pushing back his leather jacket and working frantically on his shirt buttons.

Michael pulls down her stockings but they get tangled somehow over his own head and around her feet and then they're both laughing softly and she pulls him up to her again to bestow as soft kiss upon his lips which quickly turns passionate. Michael rips his own shirt buttons for her and then he's pulling her sweater over her head, mussing up her dark hair.

Nikita has never been allowed so much access to Michael's skin – he's always so tightly covered up – and she runs her hands over the definition in his arms, momentarily distracted when she realizes that under his oh so intense and serious demeanor he has a bunch of tattoos. She momentarily breaks the kiss to ask him about them, but he mutters distractedly, "later" and grabs her lips again.

Her hands working at his pants belt, she can feel him straining against the confines of the fabric, and she's frantic now, just needing him.

Michael's narrow fingers skim over her body, seeming both reverent and predatory, and the feel of them causes Nikita to arch herself into him.

And then he's inside her. There's a moment when they both freeze at the contact – faces inches apart, panting in the stillness of Nikita's room with the drip-drip of one of the pipes echoing in the background. For that moment it's just Michael and Nikita, irrevocably joined together, finally close enough to one another after all these years.

And then Michael closes his eyes because he can't hold back any longer and he rocks his hips forwards. Nikita rises to meet him, always seeming to know what he's thinking, and then they're both moving, spiraling out of control, all heat and skin and lips, the friction almost unbearable.

Nikita can feel her climax coming, her head is swimming and every nerve ending seems to be alive with the knowledge of Michael's presence, but she's breaks the kiss and she reaches up, licking Michael's throat where the pulse beat is, feeling him shudder above her. His steady thrusts falter for a moment, and then Nikita reaches his ear, her tongue smoothly sliding around the rim. Michael's trembling again in her arms and she smiles a bit just before she reaches back up and bites gently down on his earlobe.

Michael jerks once in surprise, slams into her hard and feels his legs go limp as he comes hard into her. "Oh God," he groans, the smoke and velvet of his voice rumbling through Nikita's skin as his lips rest against her cheek, and she gasps, head thrown back as she comes as well.

He feels it and pushes just the tiniest bit farther into her as the waves of her climax sweep over them both.

And then he's kissing her again as if he just can't seem to ever stop, her hands running through his hair, still joined together as though afraid to ever let each other go.

Nikita moves them both slightly, so that they're resting side by side, still kissing, still with Michael buried deep inside her, and their legs tangled together on top of her sheets.

She can feel Michael succumbing to the usual lethargy that plagues guys after sex, and she wraps her arms around him as he draws gently out of her and then pulls her tight against him. His lips are buried in her hair and he mutters something that she doesn't quite catch as he drifts off to sleep.

Her arms tighten possessively around him. No matter how hard he tries to pull away from her in the future, she's never letting him go again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of **_**Nikita, **_**'cause if I did there would be way more Mikita scenes and we would have seen every moment of Michael and Nikita's time together during that missing week or two between 1x17 and 1x18.**

**Warning: The first couple of chapters are dealing with Michael's issues, but we'll get to Nikita's issues soon enough. Promise.**

**Thank you so much for all of my lovely reviews. They make me very happy, and I'm so thankful that you are all enjoying this story.**

Chapter Four: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Michael awoke the next morning to feel sunlight streaming over his face and a warm weight pressed against his chest. There was a moment, before his brain caught up with him, in which he tensed automatically at the unfamiliar surroundings. He realized almost instantly that it was Nikita who was draped across him – her dark hair tickling his nose and her breathing deep and even. She stirred a bit at his sudden movement but Michael ran his hands gently up and down her bare back and she quieted again.

He lay there with the sun caressing and teasing his skin and the woman he loved in his arms and he could feel the panic rising. He realized he didn't know what to say to her when she woke. Would she want to cuddle? Was he supposed to kiss her good morning and ask her if she slept well? What were they going to do about breakfast?

And he had to go to work; back into the pit where he was in charge of ensuring her death.

He didn't know how to do this after all these years. He didn't know how to just _be _with someone.

The walls of Nikita's spacious, dilapidated room were closing in on him and he felt like he was suffocating, like it was too much to handle all at once. He was feeling too much – here with her – more than he had felt for a long time. More than he had felt since he'd lost her almost four years ago. More than he had felt since he had lost Lizzy and Hayley all those many years ago.

Happiness, fear, ecstasy, anguish, joy, and pain were all swirling around him. And he felt it rising, trying to drown him.

Michael jerked in sudden movement and then he rolled out from under Nikita. She'd awoken at his first jolt, her instincts allowing her to assess the situation in an instant, and so she let him go without fuss.

Michael sat, on the edge of Nikita's bed, his bare shoulders hunched and filled with tension while he faced away from her, his gaze fixed on a bare patch of her wall.

"Michael," she began hesitantly, but Michael, ashamed of his reaction and trying desperately to close himself off again, interrupted what she was going to say.

"I have to go." He stood up and began pulling on his clothes which were somewhat haphazardly strewn about her room.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she sat up and drew the white sheet that covered her bed over herself. She rested her chin on her knees as she followed his progress around her room. She didn't look upset or angry or hurt, she looked thoughtful.

When he was finally ready he turned to face her and opened his mouth … but nothing he wanted to say would come out and rather frantically he turned away again and made for the door.

"Michael" she called after him again and he paused at the door-frame when he heard her run lightly up behind him.

She circled around until she was standing in front of him, completely naked and unashamed before him, her dark eyes filled with love and understanding. She placed her two hands gently on either side of his face, and she smiled sadly at the anguish in Michael's eyes before she stood up on her tip-toes and bestowed a light kiss upon his lips.

Michael grabbed her closer, kissing her urgently before he pulled away and all but fled her apartment.

Nikita watched him go.

She had expected him to pull away from her this morning – expected but at the same time had hoped that he wouldn't. She understood perfectly well why he did so.

Michael had been alone for a decade now. He had no really close personal relationships of any kind and the last people he had allowed himself to love, to whom he had allowed himself to open up and to cherish, had been murdered before his eyes.

He wanted her and he needed her and Nikita knew that he had been in love with her for years, but Michael was afraid that he had forgotten how to have a normal relationship, how to be close to another person, or how to let them in. She knew that he felt human around her, that he felt like a person whole and complete, and that he was afraid that if he let himself go with her, he would never be able to regain his customary control.

And he needed that control to do his job.

But she had promised herself last night, as she lay in his arms that she wasn't going to let him go again. So he could fight her and he could pull away from her all he wanted to, she would just win him back in the end.

Michael made a quick stop home to shower and change before he headed back to the subterranean world of Division.

He had assumed that he would feel some apprehension, some sense that enemies were encroaching upon all sides, when he re-entered the place he was now attempting to sabotage. But to his pleasant surprise he felt quite the contrary; he felt a sense of rightness, a sense of purpose.

He hadn't felt such a sense of resolve since he'd left the military.

The elevator doors clanged and he walked out, his long leather jacket swirling behind him, and his usual stoic expression upon his face. He passed Alex on his way out, stopped and asked her how she was – as per usual – and moved on. He felt no need to try and signal to her that he was now on her side. It was as if he had compartmentalized his time with Nikita and once he was back inside Division he was once again 2nd in Command under Percy – a loyal soldier.

He checked in with Birkhoff, drilled the recruits, and oversaw an operation they were conducting in Vietnam. And by the time everything had quieted down it was late, very late.

"Well, you might like to be here all the time Mikey, but I'm going home," Birkhoff told him, "I have a very important appointment if you know what I mean."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Birkhoff, _everyone _knows what you get up to. I hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly subtle." His tone came off a little harsher than he'd meant it to and Birkhoff paused in pulling on his jacket to study his friend.

"You okay?" he asked, holding up his hands in surrender when Michael shot an exasperated look at him. "You just seem a little tense lately, is all."

"I'm fine." Michael turned to head out the opposite door.

"Okay," Birkhoff said sarcastically, totally not buying it.

And then Birkhoff called after him. "Hey, did that lead on Alex ever pan out? You find out where she was calling from?"

Michael paused on the threshold, vivid images of Nikita lying bare and beautiful beneath him flashing across his eyes, and he cleared his throat hastily. "Yeah," his voice sounded slightly strangled so he tried again. "Yeah, it was nothing."

Birkhoff didn't sound entirely convinced about this either when he said, "yeah, whatever you say man."

Michael went back to his apartment.

He'd been avoiding thinking about Nikita all day, and although all he wanted to do was go back to her, he was frightened.

If he'd thought about this reaction logically he would have laughed at how pathetic he sounded. He was a trained assassin, in charge – under Percy – of the most deadly intelligence and assassination program in the world. He had been to the most dangerous places in the world, gone after some of the most dangerous people in said places, and he was still alive to talk about it.

And he was scared over having to face the woman he loved.

So he went back to his apartment, and without bothering to take off his clothes – just draping his jacket across the couch, he laid himself face down upon his bed and dropped into uneasy slumber.

Nikita had a feeling that Michael wouldn't come back that day, and when Midnight rolled around and he still hadn't showed, she was sure of it.

Luckily, she knew where to find him.

His home was dark when she quietly let herself in and she could just barely make out his habitual leather jacket lying across the back of the couch. She toed her shoes off and made her way barefoot across his wooden floor until she could see into his bedroom.

Her heart gave a twinge as she looked at him.

Michael was spread out face down across his bed, still in his suit though he had at least removed the jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His face was turned towards the left side of the bed and there were frown lines over his eyes as if his sleep was somehow restless. But what really made Nikita's heart go out to him was seeing his left arm stretch out over the empty side of the bed, and his hand curled as though it were reaching for something, or someone who was not there.

She dropped her jacket silently to the floor, laid her sidearm upon the night table and gently sat down on the edge of the bed. Inching along, she reached over to move his arm aside so she could lie beside him.

In a flash Michael's arm snaked out and grabbed her by the throat, his sidearm was pointed in her face, and his own was inches away from hers. He was still mostly asleep as he snapped, "Who are you? And what are you doing here?" His voice was as cold as ice, and just as impersonal.

If Nikita had ever been afraid of Michael, this moment would have reminded her why he was such a dangerous man to cross.

Instead, she kept one hand gripping his around her throat to relieve some of the pressure, and slowly raised her other hand to place it softly on the side of his face as it loomed above hers.

He blinked once, his eyes re-gaining some clarity, and he looked down first at his hand around her throat and then into her face. "Nikita," he whispered, horror-struck, and then just as suddenly he loosed her.

She coughed hard and then tried to stop him from moving away from her, but he was only reaching over to turn on a light before he was back, brushing her hands aside. "Let me look at that," he told her brusquely. She could hear the worry and self-loathing in his voice.

"It's fine," she said, hoarsely. "Just bruising." And then she grinned up at him. "That will teach me to crawl into bed hoping to surprise you."

He grabbed her to him then, burying his face in her shoulder, his breathing still harsh. Nikita wrapped her arms around him before reaching over to turn the light back off.

She rested her chin on the top of his head, her nose in his hair. "Seriously Michael, I'm fine. I probably would have done the same to you if you'd surprised me at home."

He shifted as if he would argue with her, but she dug her chin into his head and he forbore.

"And stop trying to run away from me," she continued, her tone light and amused. "First of all, it's supposed to be the other way around, if you remember correctly, and secondly I'll just find you, even if I have to get captured by Division again to do it," she threatened teasingly.

She won an involuntary chuckle from him at that. "I believe you would," he muttered, his voice even more gravelly in his fatigue.

"Now you're going to sleep," she told him, adopting a faint lecturing tone, "because in four hours you're getting up and we're going swimming."

He groaned at that. "Nikita, I hate swimming."

"How do you know?" she challenged him, "have you _been _swimming recently?" She was adorably smug at his ensuing silence. "Exactly."

He sighed but she could feel his smile against her skin.

"You'll have fun," she promised him.

He fell asleep in her arms then, for the second night in a row, but Nikita didn't sleep. She kept an unwavering vigil over him throughout that time; afraid he'd try and retreat from her once again when he woke up.

She was determined not to let him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything about **_**Nikita **_**although I really wish I did when I think of all the amazing Mikita scenes I they could add! I have a really long list somewhere ;) Please, everyone watch ChicaNikki149's AMAZING video (found here .com/watch?v=FEJc04CI1O8 ) and then go and vote for Shane, Maggie and **_**Nikita **_**at ! **

**Sorry this is mostly fluff. The swimming scene was supposed to be much shorter, but it kinda just kept going. Next chapter will get back into Division and missions and badass Michael and Nikita, yay!**

Chapter Five: Swimming is Good for the Soul

Nikita woke Michael at precisely 4:30 that morning by the simple expedient of leaning over and kissing him. Michael, eyes still shut and only partly awake, groaned softly and kissed her in return, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him. She could feel his morning erection pressing into her stomach, but she kept her kisses slow and languid before pulling slightly away from him.

Michael still hadn't opened his eyes so she bent down and playfully nipped his top lip.

His eyes shot open and he could just make out her brilliant smile in the darkness. "Time to get up," she told him, scrambling off the bed and trying to pull him up after her.

"Nikita," Michael protested; his voice even more gravelly and hoarse after sleeping, "I'm exhausted. You're really going to drag me off to go swimming?"

"Yes." Nikita was unrepentant and amusement ghosted through her words as she watched Michael trying in vain to go back to sleep. "I always suspected that you weren't a morning person," she teased.

Michael sounded vaguely offended – but definitely more awake – when he replied, "I am _too _a morning person, but 4:30 isn't the morning, it's the middle of the night!"

Nikita waved a hand in negligence. "Semantics," she told him, pulling him the rest of the way off the bed. "Anytime you wake up is morning. You taught me that, remember?"

"And so the pupil has surpassed the master," he said and stumbled over to his wardrobe, hunting through it in a, probably futile, effort to find his swim trunks.

"Um," Nikita cleared her throat behind him. "I bought you a new bathing suit yesterday." Pause. Michael stopped rummaging in his drawers. "I planned this for a while now." And there was something so vulnerable and yet hopeful in her voice, that for a second Michael was reminded of the girl she had been when he'd first met her; so damaged but with a faith that things would be better. He swallowed quickly, realizing once again how much time he'd let slip through his fingers.

He grabbed new clothes for work and then turned to face her, smiling slightly at the faint hesitation he saw in her posture. "Let's go," he told her, smirking slightly as he said, "I hope you're prepared to get your hair wet. If I'm going in then you _definitely _are."

Nikita's hesitation vanished as her eyes sparkled. "Oh Michael, you have no idea how wet I'm willing to get," she taunted provocatively. She moved right in front of him as she spoke so that her lips were inches away from his and her breath ghosted over his face.

Michael couldn't help the shiver that passed over him or the half-lidded look he bestowed upon her. He leaned in, just touching lips to lips – his hands still busy holding his change of clothes for the day – and he heard the catch in her breath just before she kissed him back.

Nikita took a step backwards, forcing Michael to take a step forwards in order to maintain contact. She took another and then another, smiling when she felt Michael growl in frustration at her continued movement. When she reached the bedroom doorway she pulled completely away from him before encircling her arms around his head.

They were both panting heavily and as Nikita looked over his shoulder at the bed behind him, she felt an almost overwhelming desire to just push him backwards and just forget about her previous plans. Wrenching her eyes away she focused.

"Swimming," she reminded him.

"Yes, yes. Swimming." Michael steadied his breathing. "I'm driving," he told her.

"Good," she told him, following him out the door of his apartment, "because I didn't bring a car."

Nikita directed Michael towards the Newark Community Center where she routinely swam early in the mornings because they didn't open until 9 on weekdays. She had no hesitation in stripping completely before Michael and then pulling on her bathing suit, and she watched with no small amount of girlish satisfaction as he swallowed rapidly whilst gazing at her, but just couldn't seem to turn his eyes away.

Everyone was constantly telling her how beautiful she was, but there was something indescribably special about the fact that she could make _Michael _forget everything else when he looked at her.

And forget everything he most assuredly had, because even when she was finished he hadn't made a move to undress himself: just staring at her, holding his swim trunks, and apparently deep in thought.

"Are you gonna wear those or just stare at them?" she teased gently, and Michael started before beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Nikita watched avidly as his well-defined body came into view. She hadn't had a chance to just admire him yet, what with his rather precipitous retreat from her rooms yesterday morning, and so she looked her fill. Michael appeared uncomfortable with her perusal though, for when he reached down to unzip his pants he paused before looking up at her.

Before he could ask her to turn around Nikita had stepped right in front of him – well into his personal space – and placed her hand on the waist of his trousers. Their eyes were locked for just a moment – green forever warring with brown – before Nikita pulled the zipper down, the sound loud in the sudden silence of the room.

She could feel her heartbeat racing and there were so many things she wanted to do to him at this moment, but she knew that they needed to talk, that they needed to just _be _with one another, and so she swallowed – her throat suddenly parched – before she reached around him and in a smooth, slow movement, pulled both his pants and his underpants down and let them fall onto the floor.

She dangled the bathing suit in front of Michael's face before she looked back up into his eyes. When she caught his gaze her breath faltered. There was something so predatory, so consuming and so devouring about his gaze that she felt her heart start to pound. It was a look which she had only seen on him a handful of times.

He kept his eyes upon hers as he slowly bent down and pulled on his swimming trunks, and then he – just as slowly – straightened up all the while gazing at her.

Nikita took a short step closer until she was pressed against him, the entire length of her body aching to be in contact with him, her breath caressing his lips as she whispered, "if you want me, then just take me." Michael's hands encircled her waist, his nose brushing against hers and his eyes closing. "I'm all yours now," she finished just before Michael grabbed her lips.

Nikita leaned back from the force of him. "And you're mine," she mumbled into his kisses, before pushing herself further off balance, and tumbling backwards – Michael still in her arms – into the pool.

They hit the water with a splash, submerging under the warm water until Michael kicked upwards and they found themselves breaking the surface. Michael had his arms securely around her, although he bestowed her with a slightly put out look at her subterfuge; one which caused her to giggle.

They treaded water together in the middle of the pool.

"Well, you got me in," Michael told her, faintly amused, "now what?"

But Nikita was looking around her. "You know, the last time I was here was with Owen," she said absently. She felt Michael freeze in her arms.

"Owen Elliot?" he questioned, carefully.

Nikita had turned back and was looking at him seriously. "Yes," she said simply, waiting.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Why was he here?" Michael ground out; he both wanted to hear the truth and dreaded it at the same time. Nikita was a very beautiful woman and she had every right to be with anyone she chose, but that had never quieted the churning jealousy he experienced every time he saw her with another man before and nor did it seem to be doing anything to calm him this time.

Nikita cocked her head at him. "Well," she drawled, "the first time I thought he was trying to kill me." She wondered which part of that sentence Michael would focus on.

"What? The _first _time?"

Nikita couldn't help it then; his jealousy was too adorable and wonderful. She kissed Michael deeply, running her tongue over his lips and begging for entrance. She could feel his slight stiffness as he resisted her for a moment, but then with a sigh he opened his mouth, one hand coming up to draw her head closer to him.

When Michael's back hit the wall of the pool he pulled away from her to ask, "and what about the second time?"

Nikita reached up and ran her hands over his face, before moving on to his shoulders and then down his strong back. "The second time I shot his black box."

She felt Michael's diaphragm kick in sudden laughter and she smiled up at him.

"I love when you get jealous, hun," and she felt him start in surprise _again _at the sudden endearment. But she was planning on bestowing many more upon him and so she figured he'd just have to get used to it. "You have my permission to get jealous any time you want." Pause. "As long as you don't kill anyone. Although I make no promises if I run into any of your girlfriends."

"Nikita!"

Her musical laughter was abruptly cut off then as Michael kissed her again.

And then they just couldn't seem to stop kissing; slow, languid kisses, deep kisses, playful kisses, sweet kisses, never crossing into passionate kisses but both seeming to want to explore the other, and reassure themselves that this was real and that they were here together.

They were so lost in each other that Michael almost didn't hear his phone ring. Groaning he pulled away from Nikita before pulling himself out of the pool and going to answer it. "Michael."

"Michael, we have a situation." Amanda's perfectly controlled voice was on the other end. Michael involuntarily glanced at Nikita, still swimming and watching him from the water.

"What is it?"

"We need you back at Division."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Michael hung up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Just to be clear, I agree with what Michael said in 1x19, that something like Division needs to exist, but Nikita is totally right in saying that Division – as it exists in this moment and for probably as long as Percy was in control – is totally corrupt.**

**And please don't hate Michael in this one. I feel like it would take him awhile to break ties completely with Division considering he's been there for over a decade. We don't know yet what he did while he was there but, like Nikita, I feel that he went to some pretty dark places. I absolutely **_**love **_**the darkness and the **_**badass-ness **_**in both of them. **

**So this chapter we will see a bad Division mission and next chapter we will see a mission where Division was **_**right **_**in getting involved.**

**This Chapter was much more epic in my head. I apologize. Although, it was way shorter in my head as well. How does that happen? Do you guys want to see more Amanda, Birkhoff, Alex and Percy or should I keep it mostly Mikita?**

**Remember Lovelies, keep voting for Maggie, Shane and #Nikita every day at the Teen Choice Awards. We NEED them to win!**

Chapter 6 Fighting is Our Slow Dance

Nikita could tell from the rigid pose of Michael's body that she wasn't going to like what she would hear next. Swimming to the side of the pool, she pulled herself out of the water.

"Amanda called," he told her. "I'm needed back in Division."

Nikita crossed in front of him and went to retrieve her towel. She waited for him to finish what he was going to say, for he wouldn't have looked so tense over such simple news.

"Percy signed off on the Vitali Operation." Pause. Nikita didn't say anything. "Amanda has been against it from the beginning; there was no other reason for her to sound so … _Amanda _just now when she said I had to come in."

Nikita released a short burst of laughter.

"I hate to break this to you Michael, but Amanda _always _sounds like she has a stick up her –"

"Nikita!" Michael interrupted.

Nikita smiled fondly. "You always didhave a bit of a protective streak when it came to her."

"Because _she _had a protective streak when it came to _you_."

Nikita didn't believe _that _for a second. "You do remember that she tried to torture me when I was captured by Division, don't you Michael?" she asked sweetly.

"She was just doing her job."

Nikita rolled her eyes. Trust Michael to hold dereliction of duty as the greatest crime a person could commit. "Anyway," she said, "What's Operation Vitali? Alex hasn't mentioned anything with that name to me."

"That's because she's too junior an agent to be read in." Michael was quickly stripping as he spoke; throwing on his pants, shirt and suit jacket, before reaching over and pulling on his leather jacket. "I don't have time to tell you about it right now and plus I don't really know anything yet. I'm do in Division in …" he looked at his phone, "15 minutes." He quickly pulled his shoes on. "What I do know about it is that it's a mission for hire job, but a _very_ important one. And it was something that Percy knew I wouldn't approve of because he was all kinds of hesitant to read me in. Last I heard a week ago, the plan is for it to happen tomorrow, so I'll fill you in tonight."

Michael made to move to the door.

"Wait," Nikita said, and snatched his phone from his hands. She quickly put her latest burner number into his phone and then scrolled through until she found his number, and memorized it. "Now you know how to get ahold of me," she told him cheekily, tossing his phone back over.

Michael's smirk made her grin turn into a full-blown smile. "What'd you do, put it under 'Nikita'?"

Nikita went over and wrapped her arms around his neck, loving when his arms came up automatically to hold her. "I was a _bit _sneakier than that. Put it under the date of my graduation from Division. Only you remember that number off the top of your head." She leaned up to kiss him. "I had a _very _good teacher," she informed him smugly, before closing that last inch and pressing her lips against his.

She felt the tension go out of Michael in an instant, and she sighed in delight when he immediately opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.

When he pulled away they were both breathless.

Michael was staring at her in wonder. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to being able to kiss you now," Nikita heard him mutter, almost too low to hear but for the deep vibrations of his voice.

"Whenever you want to," she reminded him. "Now go," she continued, giving him a slight, playful push towards the door. "You're going to be late."

"I have the car," he reminded her, "how are you going to get home?"

"It's a lovely day, I'll walk." Michael nodded and strode toward the exit from the pool. "And Michael," he stopped and turned slightly towards Nikita's voice. "Be careful." He gave her a fleeting smile and then he was gone.

Nikita turned back to change out of her wet bathing suit, worrying her bottom lip as she did so. She hadn't told Michael this, but she didn't like his returning to Division one bit. She hadn't liked it yesterday and she sure as hell didn't like it today. Michael was on her side now. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt. But he had been at Division for over a decade – Percy's Golden Boy – with a clear-cut purpose and an iron-clad chain of command with him almost at the top. And before that he had been military.

Nikita was very worried about how Michael would adapt to living outside the law, for Division, although secret, was still government sanctioned. Whereas what she was doing … was definitely _not. _

Nikita had spent most of her life flouting laws, and she had never been in the military. Division had given her structure, but she was still more used to living outside normal rules than living inside them. So was Alex, for all her privileged upbringing, or perhaps because of her upbringing; her father was, after all, closely affiliated with the Russian mob. That, plus her years as a Russian sex slave and then an illegal immigrant drug-junkie – while still being a minor for most of it – meant that Alex wasn't at all bothered by the legality or illegality of her actions.

Michael on the other hand ….

Nikita wanted Michael as far away from Division as possible. It was dangerous for him in there, much more dangerous than it was for Alex, because Percy and Amanda _knew _Michael. They'd known him for years. All it would take was one little slip up, one deviation from how he had behaved before, for either of them to become suspicious. Nikita knew that Michael was good, that he was one of the best Division had to offer, that he was a natural at spying, that he was brilliant at it, but Percy and Amanda were masters of the game as well. Sooner or later, it happened to every spy and double agent, Michael would blunder, probably only a small thing, possibly because of her, and then they would know.

Nikita feared for this moment because she knew that Percy or Amanda would bide their time. Neither of them would come right out and accuse Michael or have him killed right away. They would wait, until they could flush out Alex and her as well, and then they would strike. And no one would see them coming until it was too late.

She shivered in the cold morning air as she briskly made her way to the train station in order to get back to Manhattan. The trains ran every few minutes and Michael was long gone on his way back to his car and to Division, when she sat down on one of the worn seats. Nikita absently stared out the window as she thought; yes, she wanted Michael out of Division, and she definitely wanted Alex out as well. It was getting to dangerous for either of them in there.

Alex wouldn't be a problem and Nikita would work on her extraction first. Michael however …. Nikita had no idea how she would convince Michael to leave Division, especially now that he was so determined to bring Percy down.

Nikita got off the train and engaged in her usual anti-surveillance run in order to make sure she wasn't being followed before she entered the back door of her building. Dumping her bag of wet clothes onto the floor she quickly logged onto her computer and typed in the word 'Vitali'. She had a vague idea of who the Op was about, but she wanted to double check.

The computer spat out a top answer instantly. Ambassador Ludovico Vitali was the Sicilian-born American ambassador to Zambia, a country in Africa which had recently become China's top supplier for copper and cobalt. Beijing was steadily courting the countries throughout the entire African continent because China was – in general – resource-poor, and Africa's many untapped reserves were necessary to fuel China's rapid economic growth.

America's Ambassador Vitali was threatening those plans. With his close friendship to Zambia's President Rupiah Banda, his own Zambian-born wife who was working on educational reforms for Zambia's children, as well as his daughter Martina – who had just gotten engaged to Banda's son – Vitali was definitely not on Beijing's good list.

At the end of her investigation, Nikita read that both Ambassador Vitali and his daughter, Martina, who was studying to become a doctor in the US, would be attending a very fancy dinner at the Ritz-Carlton in Battery Park, New York City. Tonight.

_If Beijing hired Division to take out the Ambassador, even if it went completely against US interests, would Percy take the job? _

Nikita knew the answer to that immediately. Percy wouldn't even hesitate.

_But why would Michael agree to this?_

To that she could come up with no satisfactory answer.

Michael phoned just over two hours later and said that he was stopping by to fill her in. Nikita was waiting for him in front of her computer, false id's and a Ritz-Carlton invitation laid out before her as she put the finishing touches on their design.

Michael came to a halt in front of her, confusion on his face. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to stop Division from killing the Ambassador," Nikita told him, wondering why it wasn't obvious.

"Nikita," Michael said slowly, "you're not going to stop this Operation. I'm leading it, and Division's going through with it. _You're _not even going to be there."

Nikita couldn't really believe what she was hearing. She slowly got up off her stool.

"Michael," she tried to reason with him, "they're going to _kill _the ambassador – the _American_ ambassador – and maybe even his daughter, on orders from Beijing, the _Chinese _government."

Michael was shaking his head. "No, our orders come from the _US _government. They want us to proceed and take Beijing's money and finish the job they want us to do." He took a step closer to Nikita, one hand stretching out, but it dropped uselessly to his side at Nikita's rapid step away from him. "Nikita, this is for the good of our country. It's best in the long run if the Ambassador is taken out."

"Good for our country how?" Nikita's voice was the calm before a storm, but Michael failed to take note of that, already envisioning the upcoming mission unfold before his eyes.

"The world will assume that China ordered the assassination, and the backlash will bind Zambia even closer to the US. China will be denied some of the very resources it needs to become a threat. And Nikita, we have received credible intelligence that Ambassador Vitali is using his own private resources to secure an oil reserve in Somalia where he plans to sell crude oil to the Russians. He's dirty, Nikita. We're doing what we always do in order to protect this country." Michael's voice was starting to rise at the look of incredulity on the face of the dark-haired woman standing, combatively, before him.

"Are you _kidding _me, Michael?" she yelled "_You_ have no right, Division has no right, _we _have no right to _kill _American citizens! If they are guilty of crimes they go to jail, but only _after _they get a trial! You know this!"

Michael opened his mouth to object, but Nikita wasn't finished and just continued. "Who told you that the US government ordered this Michael? Percy?"

"I saw the Intel and the orders with my own eyes." Michael still hadn't raised his voice, but the glacier edge to it, and the next forward step he took, clearly showed that he was angry as well.

Nikita, her incredulity long worn off, matched his stepped with one of her own and obviously felt no qualms about raising her voice for she continued on in the same vein.

"I don't believe it," she said, shaking her head. "Why were you so against this mission only a few hours ago, Michael? Hell, why was _Amanda _against this mission? Because there is something dirty about it, something wrong, and you can feel that!"

"I was _against _this mission because I didn't have all the facts." Michael's gravelly voice snapped those words, finally showing his anger. "The US courts will never find Ambassador Vitali guilty even if the government is able to pin any charges of treason upon him. He'll simply buy them off, and then he'll be out. You think Vitali will be working for the good of the US after that? This is the _right _thing to do in the long run." Pause. "And Amanda was against it because she thought the benefits outweighed the costs, but she's come around now as well."

Nikita was shaking her head. "Michael," she pleaded, desperation in her voice, that she wasn't even aware was present, lacing through her words, "_think _about what you're doing. It might seem right _logically, _but it is still not the right course of action to take."

She saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes and so she pressed her advantage. "I'm going to be there, and I'm going to stop it. Division can't be allowed to do this."

His eyes hardened again. "You're letting your hatred for Division and your dreams of revenge blind you, Nikita. Not every mission must be stopped!"

"I know that!"

"And this is one of them. _Don't _get involved." And then, shoulders still tense in anger, Michael turned around and left.

Nikita watched him walk away from her. It felt as though her stomach had suddenly filled with lead. For a second, as the door slammed after him, she wondered if he was right. Perhaps this was one of the missions that she _shouldn't _be interfering with.

_Don't doubt yourself, _she thought. Her gut was telling her that she should be there, and if there was one thing Nikita had absolute faith in, it was her instincts.

Nikita turned back to her computer. She was changing her entrance strategy. Instead of walking in the front entrance like she'd originally planned – and which Michael now knew she was prepared for – she would have credentials to be on the serving staff. Always over-prepared, she'd "borrowed" a serving uniform from the hotel about an hour ago.

Pulling on non-descript black leggings and a black shirt, and shoving her gun into its customary place at the small of her back, Nikita quickly made her way to the Subway and took the rain over to Battery Park. She waved her credentials at the back and took her place among the serving staff. She was several hours early, but she wanted the time to get a feel for the place, to find out where Ambassador Vitali and his daughter would be seated, and to figure out some exit strategies.

At a quarter to 7, just as the first guests were arriving, Nikita saw the suit-clad agents of Division. Keeping her head down, and staying well away from them, Nikita watched out of the corner of her eye as Michael came into the kitchen, quickly handed out orders, and then dispersed with his men.

He hadn't looked for her among the kitchen staff.

Feeling a pang at the thought that he was still angry with her, Nikita quickly exited the kitchen and shed her serving clothes.

She had to get to Martina Vitali and convince her of her father's danger before it was too late.

Michael, from his position at the very back of the dining room, found his eyes constantly scanning the room for Nikita. Lines of stress and an almost haunted look in his green eyes belied the aura of calmness he was trying to project. He'd known that fighting with Nikita was inevitable – they both had strong, unyielding, conflicting personalities – and fighting was natural to both of them.

But he was just so afraid to lose her.

He'd driven her away once before; driven her straight into the arms of another man because he hadn't been able to be with her. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if he lost her again.

And he knew she was here.

Somewhere.

Michael watched absently as the guests began to move to their seats while the younger generation – their teenage and early-twenties children – moved off to the staircase to have their own celebration upstairs.

Martina Vitali was among them but Michael wasn't worried, for their orders were to leave the younger Vitali unharmed.

The plan was to poison the Ambassador as he sat down to his dinner. Division had inserted someone into the serving staff over a week ago.

Michael completed a sweep of the perimeter, still seeing no sign of Nikita, and came back inside the hotel in time to see waiters coming around with steaming plates of food and Ludovico Vitali walking sedately up the far staircase, his cellphone pressed to his ear.

He walked over to one of his agents. "Where's he going?"

"No idea. He got a call about a minute ago, looked vaguely alarmed and then calmed down, and then he said he had to take this call and he'd be back in a minute."

Michael frowned, a hint of something teasing at the edges of his awareness. It seemed routine, but he still hadn't found Nikita and he had been almost positive that she would ignore his orders and interfere with this mission despite his opposition.

Michael paused as a dark-haired girl passed by, carrying plates of food for the table. She vaguely resembled Nikita, and for a split-second Michael stared at her, before he glanced back at the staircase and then back at the serving staff.

"Dammit" he muttered under his breath, before striding across the room.

"Hold your positions," he told his men. "Nobody move until I give the order." He turned off his earpiece and took the stairs three at a time, bursting out into the third story hallway before he started running. He very quickly caught up with the Ambassador as he was coming out of a back room – alone.

"Ambassador Vitali," he called out. The ambassador stopped.

Michael slowed as he came within sight of the man. His gun was un-holstered and waiting for him to draw it, but Nikita's words were echoing in his mind. The man was dirty, Michael had absolute faith in that information for he had triple-checked it himself in addition to having Birkhoff run background tests.

Yet, Michael hesitated.

And in that moment Ludovico Vitali turned around and raised a pistol to point it straight at Michael.

"You're father's in danger," Nikita told the young, dark-haired girl whose arm she'd pulled outside the third-floor lounge at the hotel. "My name is Nikita and I'm trying to save his life."

Martina Vitali snorted. "When is he not in danger?" she asked, sarcastically. There was no sign of either fear for herself, or curiosity about her father, in the girl's face.

Nikita explained about Division. "I need you to call your father, and get him to come up here without worrying him."

Martina complied without questions. Her story about getting her picture taken in an inappropriate situation caused her father some alarm, but only for his reputation and not for his life, and Nikita was mildly impressed with the girl's ability to think on the spot.

They were still standing within view of the lounge, although the sounds inside made their conversation undetectable to anyone trying to listen in.

Martina finally asked, "So the US government finally wised up to Father's double-dealing, hmm?"

"What?"

"Nikita, my father isn't a good man. In fact, he is a very bad man who is almost untouchable by the law. A lot of people will be very relieved that he is dead."

Nikita examined the world-weary eyes of the young girl in front of her very closely. "Will you be?" she asked, compassionately.

Martina shrugged. "He's my father," she said simply. "No matter how many bad things he's done, a part of me will always love him." She waved Nikita off. "Now go save him," she told the rogue assassin standing before her, "just know that no jury in this country will convict him, and that perhaps it's better this way."

And with those words Martina Vitali headed back into the lounge to join her fellows.

Nikita headed back down the hallway, hoping to intercept the Ambassador before he reached the exit she had planned for them to use. She was feeling more and more ambivalent about saving this man's life – both Michael and Vitali's own daughter felt that it would be better for him to be eliminated.

But there had to be a line somewhere.

Nikita had found this out the hard way, and she never wanted to have to re-learn that lesson.

If there was no way for the law to touch this man, then the US government should bankrupt him before they attempted to kill him.

Nikita heard Michael's voice yelling for the Ambassador to stop. She pressed herself against the wall and edged over until she could glance down the last hallway before the grand staircase.

Michael's gun was in his hand, but it was pointed at the ground and not at the Ambassador. She saw Vitali turn towards him and raise his own weapon.

There was no way that Michael was going to be able to react in time.

Nikita didn't hesitate. She turned the corner, raised her gun, and fired.

Michael heard a shot and saw Vitali fall to the ground, dead, in front of him – a single, small caliber bullet buried in the back of his head. Nikita was standing farther down the hallway, her weapon still raised.

Michael heard loud voices as people began to come and investigate the sound. He jumped over the body, grabbed Nikita's hand and pulled her towards the service exit that was just behind her. The door closed just as the swell of humanity swarmed down the hallway.

Breathing heavily, Michael realized that Nikita's back was pressed to the door, with his hands still pushed against it, just over her shoulders.

She was looking him over carefully, as though trying to memorize him after the scare he'd just given her.

Her eyes were desperate and apologetic and he knew that his must have been much the same.

And then she reached up and grabbed him, pulling him against her as her lips met his frantically. Michael grunted as the air rushed out of his lungs as he all but fell into her. His hands still pressed into the door, he pushed his body into hers, his mouth trying to all but inhale her perfect lips. Her head fell back against the door with a dull 'thunk', undetectable over the noise outside in the hallway, as Michael ravished her.

He pulled her up into his arms, pressing her hard into the wall.

Nikita could feel his hardness and she ached to take him right there and then; the added danger of their discovery only exciting her more.

"Nikita," Michael groaned, trying to pull his lips away. Nikita placed a hand on his face and wouldn't let him, licking playfully at his lips until he moaned and kissed her again. "I have to get back out there," he mumbled into her mouth, although it sounded more like "habta getba owtha" to her.

She wrapped her legs higher on his ass and then pulled him, hard, onto her.

Michael choked and Nikita sighed in satisfaction as his cock hit her dead center, the layers of clothing creating a delicious friction.

Michael grabbed Nikita's hand as it moved towards his waistband. His legs shaking underneath him, he dropped onto his knees, resting her on his legs. He slowed there kisses until the long, lingering ones they took were more for reassurance and less about passion.

Finally, resting his forehead upon hers, he looked down at the woman held securely in his arms.

She smiled cheekily up at him. "Come on, admit it Michael. You know this was some kind of fantasy of yours."

At his startled glance she laughed delightedly.

"We should keep a list," she told him. "Now get back out there and do your job, hunnie." She got off him and pulled him up after her. She leaned up to kiss him. "I'll be waiting for you at home," she whispered, and then she was gone.

If anyone noticed that Michael's lips looked ravished and his clothes were slightly askew, well ….. no one said anything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from Nikita, which is sad sometimes because I think there might be too much Nikita/Alex drama this season and not enough Nikita/Michael. Don't get me wrong, I adore the Nikita/Alex girl-power team, but I feel like they're forcing it a bit. A little more subtlety would make it much more heartbreaking. Also, I'm so excited we're finally getting some Nikita backstory!**

Chapter Seven: The Lady in Red

"So," Nikita summarized the next day, as she and Michael exchanged blows with moonlight, streetlight and lamplight shining down upon them, "now Percy wants you to go to Berlin, on the slim chance that _Tariq al-Masri_ will be there? Isn't he supposed to be _dead?_"

Michael ducked Nikita's swing and then blocked her roundhouse kick. "Yes, and yes," he panted, concentrating.

"Oh, man of few words today hmm?" Nikita swiftly moved aside as his fist appeared right where her nose had been. "Maybe," she started, before spinning under his other fist, twisting his arm up under him and attempting to flip him," you're feeling the pressure. Can't handle me today?" she taunted.

Michael shot her a roguish grin over his shoulder as his other elbow shot back, caught her in the gut and he spun around, slinging his arms around her, effectively capturing her. "You wish," he told her.

Nikita felt the rumble of his voice raspy voice through her entire body, but she wouldn't let herself be distracted.

She poked him roughly, right in the side.

Not expecting that, he flinched. Nikita hooked her leg around his and pushed against him, driving them both off balance.

Michael fell roughly onto the ground behind him, refusing to relinquish Nikita and with her hands cushioning the back of his head. The air in his lungs left abruptly at the impact and he looked with bemusement up at the woman above him.

"Ok, maybe I _can't _handle you today. This used to be so much easier before I slept with you," he grumbled.

Nikita's choke at his words, followed by her merry laughter caused him to smirk back up at her.

"You just told a joke!"

Michael started laughing at the proud look she was directing at him. "It has been known to happen on occasion," he informed her, before reaching up and capturing her lips with his own.

"Remember, Michael", Amanda's controlled voice was mercilessly going over last minute details, "you will be alone for this operation. There are no cameras in the hotel and Birkhoff cannot monitor you. You must make contact with the target and eliminate him cleanly. No one can suspect your involvement or you won't be able to get out cleanly. And we _cannot _rescue you if you mess up." She fixed her cold blue eyes upon him.

Michael stared evenly back. "I understand the risks."

"I've picked out your evening wear, it's all ready for you and waiting in my office. You'll need to look handsome but not attract attention, so I had to tone down your wardrobe. No black tuxes. You look too dark and mysterious so I went with dark blues." She eyed him a bit. "You're too much of a lady-magnet Michael, but I do what I can."

Birkhoff swung around from his computer screen. "I can hack into the internal phone lines for only a few minutes, so if you run into trouble call this number" – he handed Michael a slip of paper with a long international phone number, which Michael quickly glanced at, memorized, and then crumpled up to dispose of in the trash can, to which BIrkhoff rolled his eyes – "and we _may _be able to advise you."

He glanced cheekily up at Michael. "Don't count on it though."

"Thanks," Michael's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I knew I could always rely on you."

"Yup, you know it Mikey. I'm always there for you ….. as long as it's not dangerous, or life threatening … or interfering with my free time."

Amanda broke in. "As much as I hate to interrupt this little bromance you've got going on here – " she turned to Michael – "remember your flight leaves at 0800."

She paused for a moment then, just gazing at him until Michael wanted to shift uncomfortably. "Just stick to the mission plan and you will be fine." For just a moment she looked like she wanted to say something else

Michael watched her go with the feeling that she was actually worried about him.

Birkhoff waited until he was sure she was out of sight before saying, "Dude, who drank her non-fat latte this morning?"

Michael eyed him sternly. "Just be prepared for anything to go wrong. You know how these Ops. Work."

Birkhoff looked down for a second before saying, a bit hesitantly, "Too bad Nikki's not still around. She was always the best at working without a safety net." He waited, unsure of Michael's reaction. Lately the other man had been very touchy whenever Nikita had been brought up.

"Yeah," Michael said, almost fondly to Birkhoff's shock and slight suspicion, "she still is."

Michael leaned casually against the bar. The ballroom at the Hilton was spacious, with vast, cavernous ceilings overlooking a dance floor, a bar and the small, dinner tables situated besides the windows on the outsides of the room.

Guest mingled freely as soft music played in the background.

No one was dancing yet, and most were eating dinner.

Michael spotted his target, Tariq al-Masri, off to his left closer to the far door leading to the main lobby and the grand stair case beyond.

Tariq al-Masri, tall, balding and fat, was assiduously wiping his moustache as he chatted up the rather scandalously dressed woman sitting in front of him. Bits of his dinner had caught, rather ungracefully, in his facial hair and the woman was trying – without much success – to hide her disgust from him.

Michael moved over to make small talk with a middle-aged German lady standing in his vicinity. He had brushed up on the language and his natural affinity for languages came back to him as he told that lady that he was from just north of Munich and he spoke to her in flawless Bavarian slang.

Using the older lady as cover, Michael surreptitiously glanced around the room, looking for al-Masri's son.

The older al-Masri had married a Dutch woman, and the resulting blonde child had been named Steven, given an American education, a European mansion, limitless wealth and an identity crisis.

Unfortunately for all concerned Steve al-Masri was both incredibly handsome, and the recipient of money without effort. As such he was the in that Division needed to take his father down.

Michael watched out of the corner of one eye as the younger al-Masri, surrounded by beautiful women, reached over and placed his hand proprietarily over that of the dark-haired woman in front of him. Michael had a glimpse of to-die-for legs perfectly showcased by a red dress that had a slit almost the entire length of the skirt.

Michael leaned backwards the tiniest bit and caught a flash of pale, slender arms and then he heard the woman laugh and he froze a wave of fury coursing through him. He could all but feel the blood pumping through his veins.

Nikita was here.

He stepped back from his conversation partner, politeness be damned, and finally got a good look at her.

She was absolutely stunning – the lady in red – and everyone in the room seemed to be well aware of it. Her hair was in perfect waves framing her face, and her red lips, opened in a little "o" of excitement were much too close to al-Masri's own as she bent intimately near to him and whispered something in his ear.

Michael gritted his teeth.

He took one fuming step across the room to his errant lady and found himself unexpectedly detained in the iron grasp of his ignored conversational partner.

"The dancing is about to begin soon," so told him, "save one for me will you?"

Michael mumbled something and shook her hand off quickly.

Nikita had moved with Steve and his party to the older al-Masri's table. Michael saw her stand in front of the old man and offered her hand daintily to him. She bent over to shake the hand he gave her, and every person's attention in that room was fixed on her ass.

Michael watched her hands. As they passed over al-Masri's cup something small and white dropped from them to land squarely in his wine.

After a moment Steve, Nikita and the other women moved away from the table towards one of the windows.

Michael made a beeline for them. His steps hard and clipped and his green eyes like ice.

Nikita kept a pleasant smile on her face as she listened attentively to Steve al-Masri expound upon the state of the world today. She tried to control her lips that wanted to twitch up into a smirk at her flawless delivery of the poison into al-Masri's glass, but she controlled herself.

He was saying something about dancing when suddenly Nikita felt warm, callused fingers skimming lightly across her bare back. Her breath caught and her hands clenched around her champagne glass. She knew those hands. Goosebumps broke out upon her skin as his warm moved away. She felt him pass so near her as he circled to meet the younger al-Masri.

"Michael Townsend." His voice was harsh and guttural and Nikita could hear the repressed fury in it …. coldly controlled. She raised her eyes to meet his and felt herself shiver. His gaze was fixed unwaveringly upon her.

"My cousin," he was saying, waving at her. "Do you mind excusing us for a moment." Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her arm in an iron grip and hustled her out of the ballroom, across the foyer and down one of the darkly lit hallways in the back.

He shoved her roughly into the wall, pinning her arms above her head as his furious face blocked her vision.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he growled at her. "Your presence here could jeopardize the entire mission!"

"Michael," Nikita began, but he wasn't having it.

"Don't you 'Michael' me! And more importantly what were you doing cozying up to that…that…."

"Rich, hot playboy?" Nikita suggested, inching her feet over just the slightest bit so that one leg was between Michael's.

Michael realized how unreasonable he was being. He paused, his labored breath panting over Nikita's skin, causing her heart rate to speed up. She angled her chin to gaze up at him, licking her lips and watching as his eyes flew to them.

Nikita inched her thigh up his leg, watching the glazed look in his eyes as she moved higher and higher and higher ….

Michael's breathing grew erratic and then stopped. He growled something low in his throat and then he was on her, his body pressed tightly over hers, his lips harsh and demanding and his hands like shackles around her wrists.

Nikita moaned and arched her pelvis up to meet his. She tilted her neck as Michael licked and bit, trying to mark every inch of her. She tried to twist her wrists away, but he merely tightened his hold and slammed her hands back into the wall.

Nikita wrapped one leg high around Michael's waist before moving her head and recapturing his lips with her own.

Michael's tongue immediately demanded entrance. His breathing was labored and furious as his tongue tasted every inch of her mouth, clearly trying to assert his dominance.

Nikita bit his bottom lip, causing him to grunt at the pain mixed in with the pleasure and to automatically cant his hips into hers. She moaned again. "Michael" she gasped.

And then they both froze.

Another set of footsteps was rapidly approaching them down the hallway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from Nikita. So I started this chapter a month ago and then life became completely insane and I never got around to finishing it. But anyway, the long overdue next chapter. This fic will only go for a couple more chapters. I have to get on to Season 2 stories.**

**Sorry guys, the whole construction and pacing of this chapter is really bad, but it's been so long since I've updated this that I can't make you guys suffer and wait anymore while I fiddle around with it. Also, some of you **_**might **_**recognize the elevator scene ….**

**Oh and remember that this is still only the first week of their relationship together – which we never got to see grrrr – so they're still not as comfortable and cute with each other as they now are in Season 2 – which btw I'M LOVING SO MUCH!**

_Nikita bit his bottom lip, causing him to grunt at the pain mixed in with the pleasure and to automatically cant his hips into hers. She moaned again. "Michael" she gasped._

_And then they both froze._

_Another set of footsteps was rapidly approaching them down the hallway. _

Chapter Eight: Missions, Elevators and Sexual Desire

"Move, move, move," Michael hissed, dragging Nikita rapidly down the hallway and through a maintenance door that led to a room full of cleaning supplies.

Nikita leaned against him and quietly laughed to herself, which Michael ignored as he strained to make out the footsteps passing them until they faded down the hall and out of earshot.

He placed his hands on Nikita's shoulders then, moving her away from him so she could see his face. "We should get back out there," he told her somewhat stiffly, angry at himself for getting distracted from the mission.

Her eyes flickered up to his. "Of course," she said simply, bestowing a feather-light kiss upon his lips before moving off quickly back out the door and down the hallway. Michael hurried to keep up.

"But you know Michael," she called back to him softly over her shoulder, "we really don't have to do anything but make sure he drinks from his glass."

Michael's steps and breathing didn't change behind her, but she felt his sudden, intent gaze upon her back. "Don't tell me –" he began.

"Yup," she answered happily. "Job's all done, babe."

He caught up to her just as they both walked back out into the foyer and through the archway into the ballroom, his eyes immediately darting towards his left and al-Masri's table.

It was empty. And not just devoid of al-Masri's presence, but devoid of people in general, as if the whole party had just up and vanished.

Michael, heart beating unnaturally fast in his chest, discreetly swept the room. He knew that Nikita had also spotted al-Masri's absence and was doing the same as him, only in an opposite arc. They had only been gone seven minutes yet al-Masri, his lady-friend, his bodyguards, his son and the son's Party, were no longer there.

The small quartet providing music played on – something soothing by Mendelsohn it sounded like – but Michael heard only the screech of strings and the clang of brass. The bright, artificial laughter of the dinner-goers swept around him.

Michael was standing stock-still, tense as a wire in the middle of the dance floor, mind frantically trying to determine his next move. He couldn't let al-Masri disappear again or it would be years before he would resurface, years in which he would have time to concoct and go through with any number of terrible acts.

And then Nikita's arms were around him, pulling him against her and gently swaying with him in time to the music. His arms came around her instantly, and Nikita felt him relax as she rested her chin on his shoulder. Her eyes still scanned the room, searching for anything she had missed.

"What you put in al-Masri's glass …." Michael began, voice so soft it was only a rumble in his chest.

"Yes, it was slow acting," she murmured. "It shouldn't have affected him already. He left for another reason."

When the song ended Michael drifted over to the bar and Nikita headed towards one of the businessmen she had seen previously talking with the al-Masri party. Michael watched as she fixed a sweet, slightly vacant smile upon her face as she talked with the older man, who seemed flattered to be the focus of such a beautiful woman's questions and attention.

She returned to his side a few moments later, looping her arm through his as they both walked out of the dining room and into the large elevator to the left of the welcome desk.

They were alone there.

"There was an altercation between al-Masri and his date for the evening," Nikita told him quietly. "He upended the table and started hurling abuse at her. I don't think he drank any of his wine."

Michael was leaning against the far side of the elevator, arms across his chest and eyes on the floor as he listened.

"Apparently little al-Masri was quite mortified over his father's behavior," Nikita said delicately, waiting for Michael to glance at her.

Michael was busy going through the motions of his backup plan and wasn't listening anymore.

He hadn't wanted to use this one; it increased the chances that he wouldn't be able to make a clean getaway exponentially. If he could just manage to catch him as he went into the hotel gym for his morning workout tomorrow – the only time he was without his ever-present bodyguard – then he could, in all likelihood, and given that no one else was walking down the hall at that moment in time, manage to ….

"Michael," Nikita's strident voice broke through his reverie. His eyes shot up to hers. She was wearing an exasperated look upon her face. "_We _move onto Plan B," she said. "_We, _not _you._ So whatever little plan you've got cooking up there …." Her tone changed mid-sentence. "Well, I've gotta better one," she ended, brightly.

At Michael's disgruntled look she took two steps towards him and reached up, placing both her hands on the side of his face and stroking his cheeks gently with her thumbs. "I'm not letting you do this alone," she told him, "Michael, you have _me_." The sincerity, as well as the almost despite quality of her tone, brought Michael back to when he had left her in Uzbekistan in order to go after Kasim, alone. She had said the same thing to him then and he'd all but thrown it back into her face.

Sudden remorse filled him.

He opened his mouth …. and then the elevator doors clanged and opened to their level.

A slightly curious old couple was surveying them from the other side.

"Evening," Michael said, before he threaded his arm through Nikita's and guided her around the other couple and off down the hallway towards their room. He waited until the door was securely locked behind them before he asked, "ok, so what did you have in mind?"

Nikita flashed him a devious grin. "Well, no need to complicate things, right? We'll keep things nice and simple."

_Twenty-four hours later._

One of the unwritten rules of the universe is that you can never keep anything hidden from hotel staff, especially in a really upscale establishment.

In fact hotel employees pride themselves on their ability to observe the follies and foibles of their guests all without being noticed in return.

And, as any good spy knows, you never break your cover while on mission – least of all in your hotel.

The staff at the Hilton were known for their discretion, for their unflappability under any and all situations, and for their quietly boasted about ability to have witnessed everything and anything under the sun.

None of which prepared them for the sight of the elderly – and frankly ugly-looking – al-Masri crashing into the most beautiful young woman any of them had seen for quite a while. The dark haired woman – wearing towering heels and a dress with a slit in it that left very little to the imagination – tottered and would have fallen if not for the quick reaction of al-Masri's bodyguard. What followed next left the hotel staff in awe of the woman's expertly applied charms. Within two minutes al-Masri and the woman were ensconced close together upon one of the settees in the foyer, drinks brought to them by a remarkably good looking young man that none of the staff could remember seeing around before, and who definitely didn't appear to like the beautiful woman draping herself shamelessly over the lecherous old man.

There was a minor commotion outside the main door as the handsome waitor – now mysteriously a bell-boy – dropped some of al-Masri's luggage and his bodyguard went out front to help out, cursing the man all the while.

The woman delicately sipped her drink and laughed delightedly at something al-Masri said before offering al-Masri a sip from her glass. "Something cold and definitely life-changing," she told him, laughing again. Her laugh was as gorgeous as the rest of her, loud and free and clear; the kind of laugh that makes you want to join in.

Al-Masri took a sip.

His car was ready. He offered the woman a chance to come with him, but she smiled, handed him a slip of paper with her number on it, and bestowed a kiss upon his cheek. Al-Masri left looking as overwhelmed as the – discretely staring – hotel staff felt.

The young man came up and stood beside her and they both watched al-Masri drive off. They distinctly heard her say "My lips are burning," before she proceeded to take the wet towel he offered her and wipe them off.

"How long?" the man's gravelly voice asked.

"Half an hour at least. No way it'll be traced back."

"Where the hell did you learn about the side effects of that?" The man's voice sounded slightly angry, slightly admiring and slightly something else, which the staff couldn't quite place. The woman was obviously familiar with this tone though, because she turned to him and flashed a grin.

"A girl has her ways," she told him seriously, but her eyes alight with laughter.

His hand reached out and gripped hers tightly as he turned to stare down at her. His eyes were intense, filled with a heat that had the female members of the hotel staff fanning themselves.

"Let's go," he growled at her, and she went with him willingly towards the elevators. Neither of them paid any attention to the hotel staff that continued to star after them avidly. Whether they were conscious of the stares or not the Staff never did find out. What was surprising was that even after al-Masri turned up dead, not one of the hotel employees who had witnessed the event felt any desire to inform the authorities about what had really gone on that night.

There was just something so terribly hot and romantic about two gorgeous assassins trapped in a torrid love affair, and they wanted to keep it all to themselves.

Michael didn't even wait until the elevator doors closed. He pulled Nikita roughly against him, his lips urgently caressing hers as her arms locked tight around his broad shoulders. They stumbled backwards as the lift jerked upwards, both crashing into the wall. Nikita raised one leg and wrapped it around him, the tip of her heel digging into his backside as she pressed him intimately against her.

She was already desperately hot and aching for him. The jealously he couldn't control, present in his voice as he'd handed out her drink in al-Masri's presence, had sent a hot jolt shooting through her so quickly it was all she could do not to grab him right then and there and ruin the mission.

Michael ran his fingers over her face and through her hair before skimming down her neck, following it with his lips. Seeing her with al-Masri had ignited a desire to possess every inch of her, to mark every part of her. He bit her neck gently, causing her to jerk quickly before she pulled him back up to her lips, her tongue darting in as he strained to move even closer to her.

Her hands moved up to his hair, her fingers threading through the fine strands before she tugged them sharply, trying to change his angle.

He growled at her.

Nikita was so surprised at this for a second that Michael was able to take advantage of her momentary shock to grind his hips sharply into her while simultaneously sliding his hand lightly under her dress up her stomach and between her breasts. The shock of sensation – the hardness and heat of his cock and the cold, rough tips of his fingers – made Nikita shudder, her legs unable to support her any longer.

"Oh god," she moaned, her head banging against the elevator wall. "Michael," she begged.

Her husky voice was overwhelming. There was no force on Earth that could prevent Michael from grabbing her lips again, as his hands steadied her.

As the elevator door clanged and they stumbled out, oblivious to anything except each other. Somehow they made it to their room…

…..Michael fumbled in vain for the key, as Nikita leaned against him distracting him as she rapidly undid his buttons….

…..and then the door was open, Michael had picked her up, her shoes were kicked across the room….

…..and then there was only lips and hands on skin, frantic kisses, pent up desire and Michael and Nikita together right where they were supposed to be…


End file.
